On the morrow, Captain Trecarrel left. In the evening Herring went in quest of Joyce and found her hoeing in the little field. He called, and she ran to him as a dog to its master, and with as marked demonstrations of delight at seeing him. ’Joyce. I came here yesterday to find you, and you were away.’ ’Oh dear, oh dear, though!’ she exclaimed; ’I were wiring a rabbit.’ ’Joyce, I want a word with you.’ ’You can have scores; as many as you wants.’ ’I know. A woman is free of her words. You must tell me the truth now, my little maid, for a good deal depends on it.’ ’Did I ever tell’y a lie, now?’ asked Joyce, offended. ’You may cut me in pieces afore I’ll say other than what be true to you.’ ’What I want to know, Joyce, is, where did your father get that shekel?’ ’I don’t know what that be.’ ’A silver coin. He says he found three or four here under one of the stones of the Table. There is a branch on one side, and on the other a cup with a flame rising out of it.’ ’I never seed nothing of the sort, nowhere.’ ’Your father says that he gave them to you, and that you lost all, except one which he retained and sold to Mr. Flamank.’ Joyce shook her head. ’You have never seen anything of the kind?’ ’It be just one o’ vaither’s pack o’ lies,’ answered the candid Joyce; ’vaither hev been lying finely since Ophir began. He never showed me nothing like that; he never gived me no silver money. He never had none to give till Ophir began.’ ’You are very positive.’ ’If you doubt, I’ll say, Blast me blue——’ ’That will do,’ interrupted Herring; ’your word will suffice without the blue blazes to colour it.’ The old man had lied about the shekel. He had not given it to the girl, he had therefore probably not found it at all, but it had been given him by those who had put the story into his mouth. ’I’ll ax vaither if you likes,’ said Joyce; ’he’ll tell me, all right.’ ’I do not think he will. That is all I wanted to know, my dear girl.’ ’I say,’ said Joyce, ’doant’y go off now right on end. Sit you down a mite here in the sun and have a chat. I never see nothing of you now, not as it used to be when I were ill and scatt to bits. I a’most wish my airms was broke again, that you could come and see me ivery day. That were beautiful.’